


kneel on my arrival

by callunavulgari



Series: Holiday Writing Challenge '12 [14]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bath Sex, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You will never tire of the way he smiles, no matter the smile he wields—whether it is used as a weapon or a gesture of love, it can never be doubted that he does it with all of his being.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kneel on my arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Day 14 of the Holiday Writing Challenge on tumblr [over here](http://giraffe-tier.tumblr.com/post/35469673249/winter-drawing-writing-challenge). Prompt was 'hot baths'. I had thought about switching this to a different pairing, but in the end it was much too tempting to write vaguely flowery second person Tony/Loki bath porn. Title is from the song 'Don't Mess With Me' by the Temposharks, because it is one of the most Loki-esque songs that I have ever heard.

“Your baths are much too small here on Midgard,” Loki tells you when you meander into the bathroom, snow still speckling your hair. You blink at him, disbelieving, because the bathtub that he’s currently in is the biggest one in New York. You know this, because one of your many one-night stands wrote an article about it in People magazine six years ago. As if people didn’t have better things to do than read about the size of Tony Stark’s bathtub. You’re used to them writing about the size of... some of your other attributes, but bathtub? That was a new one.  
  
You’d had the tub custom made when you and Pepper had started dating, because it was her favorite way of relaxing at the end of a long day—you, bubblebath, wine, and her book of the week—which you would read to her as she rested against your chest, eyes closed and a soft smile on her lips.  
  
You’d kept it after, because what use was it to rid yourself of a bathtub the size of a small swimming pool for the sake of a break up? (You had thought about having it lifted out by crane and installed in Pepper’s new condo, but ultimately decided that it wouldn’t quite fit in her new bathroom.)  
  
He blinks up at you, bubbles on his chin and in his hair. He smiles, a little crook of the corner of his mouth that makes him look impish. It makes you want to throw your hands up and back away, because the last time he’d given you that look, he’d caught half your closet on fire just so you wouldn’t be able to clothe yourself for the day. Instead, you raise your eyebrows and unfasten your cufflinks, dropping them gently onto the counter. You remove your tie and take a step closer. “Though,” he purrs thoughtfully, “I do appreciate the privacy. You wouldn’t believe some of the things Thor’s lot would get up to in the baths.”  
  
“I’m imagining Grecian orgies now. I thought you should know,” you tell him, sliding your pants down your thighs.  
  
He wrinkles his nose, but inclines his head all the same. “They were not un-like that, I suppose. More women, perhaps.”  
  
You snort, finally sliding your boxers down your hips and relishing in the way that his eyes light upon you, going bright with hunger. He makes a beckoning motion, so you step carefully into the water, hissing as the heat seeps into your cold skin—your skin still cold enough that the hot water burns—feeling like needles on your skin. His hands go to your hips, long fingers curling around them so he can drag you down into the water, his expression greedy.  
  
He breathes out a contented sigh when your skin touches his, dragging you in so you’re straddling his lap, pressed together from chests to groin. Even enveloped in water nearly too hot for your own skin, his flesh is still temperate—hardly more than room temperature. “How are you not boiling?” you ask, nuzzling into his neck and smiling when he returns the gesture.  
  
“I enjoy the heat,” he tells you, which is something you already know. You’d known that from the moment he first touched you—when he groaned like he was dying the first time he pushed into you, breathing, “Yes, yes, Tony, you’re so _hot_ , so good—” You know from the way he curls into you at night, his chilled skin greedily sucking in your warmth.  
  
You hum into his hair, rocking your hips together gently—gauging his degree of interest.  
  
His cock stiffens against you, already half-hard. You want to have him like this—crawl into his lap and impale yourself on his cock, listen to him writhe and moan as he heats with your touch—see if you can make him mindless with the warmth of it all.  
  
Water is no substitute for lube, but he’s just had you the night before, and you’re past the point where a little pain will dissuade you from spectacular sex. When you rock against him again, harder this time, he throws his head back, exposing the long, pale line of his throat, completely vulnerable. It makes you grin and scrape your teeth against the skin there—the fact that this creature who trusts so few will expose himself to you like this. It’s a feeling of power so intoxicating that you feel drunk with it, so you take one of his hands and drag it beneath the water—press it against your hole.  
  
His eyes darken, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. He circles your hole once, twice, three times—playing with the rim before finally pressing the very tip of his thumb inside. It makes you twitch, so you curse at him until he laughs and murmurs something under his breath, something that makes you slick enough that it’s simple for him to slip the rest of his thumb inside.  
  
You groan and he laughs at you still, eyes gone wrinkled at the edges with amusement. You will never tire of the way he smiles, no matter the smile he wields—whether it is used as a weapon or a gesture of love, it can never be doubted that he does it with all of his being. Your breath catches in your throat as he slides another finger in alongside the first, pressing gentle kisses against the side of your neck as you adjust, clenching around the intrusion.  
  
Before meeting him, you had always been good at foreplay. You had mastered the art of breaking your partner apart until they were shivering with need, begging to have you inside of them. He makes you greedy. One look from him and you want all of him—inside you or around you—as quickly as you can get him. You twitch and moan and curse with impatience until he gives you what you want, and this time is no different.  
  
It seems no time at all has passed before you’re growling into his ear, knocking his fingers aside so you can position him against you—dragging the head of his cock against your hole before sinking down onto it—your insides twisting with pleasure.  
  
He likes it when you lead, likes how greedy you are for his cock inside you, breathing little words of encouragement into your ear as you fuck yourself back onto his cock, your voice sticking to the insides of your throat, too far gone for speech.  
  
He loves it, so he lets you do what you will until you’re both so close to that edge—until you’ve taken all you possibly can. Only then does he take control, fucking into you with quick, controlled thrusts—a calculated angle that takes him even deeper, until you’re both teetering—  
  
—until you fall.


End file.
